Cold In The Desert
by Redlance-ck
Summary: Claire Redfield leads her convoy across the sun-scorched land, feeling cold despite the heat. Alice enters their camp under a blanket of fire and finds a kindred spirit. Maybe warmth will find them together.  Alice/Claire Redfield. Set during 'Extinction
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. Except the story idea.

**A/N: ****Another idea i've been playing around with for a while. I think it'll be three or four parts by the time it's done, though i'm not one hundred percent sure where it's going yet. Progress is slow, but hopefully will be worth it. :) Reviews are love. They fluff my ego and make me write more. True story. ;) But really, i'd love to know what you think of it/would like to see... generally just if i'm doing a good job with the characters. Title taken from the King's Of Leon song of the same name.**

* * *

Cold In The Desert

Claire remembers when sunsets were beautiful.

It used to be her favourite time of day, when the sun would slowly disappear and colour the clouds with a smattering of oranges and pinks. Now she associates sunsets with the red of blood. Because while the dark was something she used to enjoy, she now knows the dangers that come with it. The groaning, staggering, blood-thirsty monsters that use the cover of night to drag themselves past too-tired watchmen. She knows that when the sun starts to ebb beyond the horizon, it takes any false sense of security she allows herself to feel during the daylight hours with it.

The gun is warm in her hands. She plays with it, shifting it from palm to palm and running her thumb along the ridges on the side of the butt, below the trigger guard. A gun hasn't felt foreign in her hand since the first time she managed to hit every single crumpled pop can Chris had placed along a peeling brown wooden fence for her to practise with. She hasn't been able to feel safe without one since before Racoon City. That thought used to disturb her, in the early days of the infection. It doesn't anymore.

Her eyes scan the area around her, fingers absently popping the magazine clip in and out of its sheath. There are only a few people left now that can say they've been with the convoy since the beginning. Since Claire hotwired the bright yellow hummer and took off in search of anyone left alive. She'd spent a lot of time wondering, daydreaming about finding people she knew. Friends she'd left behind when she'd first headed out to find her brother, thoughts of finding Chris himself and how happy the reunion would be. She'd had so much more hope back then. But things were different now. You could change a lot in five years, see too much, and she had. It had made her stronger in a lot of ways; her skin was thicker, her mind more easily capable of letting go of people she couldn't save - though she felt she would never be able to completely master that particular feat. She'd become a leader, and the people around her need her to be stronger than they are. Capable of doing things they aren't. She'd come to terms with that a long time ago, but she still has hope. While it might not shine as brightly as it once had, it's still there. Hovering inside her, glow dim but inextinguishable.

Her eyes drift over the scraggily dressed members of the convoy, **her** convoy, taking in each dusty face and bringing forth their names from some part of her mind that refused to let them go. Even when the people themselves had gone. She spots Mikey, sitting in the back of his van in front of the computer screen, double doors wide open and K-Mart perched of the van's bottom. She sees their lips moving, one set after the other in easy conversation, sees them smiling and feels her brow furrow. She remembers a time, when she was younger, when talking to people - maybe someone you could foresee entering into a relationship with, maybe just a friend - like she suspected K-Mart was talking to Mikey right now, was easy. Fun and exciting and new every time. She remembers the thrill of plucking up enough courage - something she never had too much trouble with - to just go over and talk to the person that had caught your eye the second you walked into the party, or the park, or the goddamn supermarket. She wonders if K-Mart feels that same thrill when she talks to Mikey. If Mikey feels nervous, the good kind, when he spots her approaching. She wonders if they ever had chance to experience that before the Umbrella shit storm hit, because now Claire can't help but think that there's isn't really enough time to feel all those 'first time' emotions. Not properly. Because by the time you've gotten past the sweaty palms and being tongue-tied, once you've contained the nervousness and the butterflies enough to be able to make your legs move towards the object of your affections, that person could have an infected hanging off their neck. They could be ripped from you just as you were getting to know them. She wonders if they still feel all that, but maybe rushed. Or maybe they're foolish enough to be taking their time anyway.

"Busy?" She hadn't heard her approach. So Claire's body jerks a little, startled by the unexpected voice, and her head snaps up. The lithe figure is cast in shadow, her back to the setting sun, looming over Claire like some ominous figure of doom. She squints against the glare of the light surrounding her until she can make out the raised eyebrows and questioning expression on Alice's face. Claire shrugs, gesturing with her gun towards the vacant spot on the overturned vending machine beside her. Alice's lips quirk, offering a half-smile and she drops down, sitting a respectable few inches from the redhead. The air is suddenly filled with the noise of someone inhaling sharply and Alice's shoot back upright, glaring down at the metal box. "Jesus!" Claire frowns up at her until she sees the blonde rubbing the backs of her thighs with the palms of her hands. She laughs and doesn't realise until later how long it's been since she's done that, really done that. Alice draws her eyebrows together but smirks a little, sitting back down beside the convoy leader, this time closer to the edge. "Hot." She says, as though it needs explaining. Claire nods, still smiling, and goes back to playing with her gun. For a minute or so, there is silence. Slightly uneasy, semi-charged silence.

Alice makes Claire uncomfortable. It's not something she's tried to mask or even really understand, it's just a fact. It's not every day you see a woman, who at first glance doesn't look like she's strong enough to fire a gun, mould the stream of a flamethrower into a sky-wide inferno, showering the ground below with the ashes of infected crows. It had been unsettling to witness.

"You doing okay?" Claire knows why Alice is asking, figures the other woman has probably had to bury a few of her own friends, mentally if not physically. What she doesn't know though, is why there's concern in Alice's voice. Real concern, not the fake; 'Yeah? You lost someone? We've all lost someone. But whatever, I'll ask because it's courteous' concern she's come to expect. Alice's asks her like she cares and Claire doesn't know what to do with that. So she shrugs again, letting the clip slide out of the gun and continuing the absentminded, monotonous motion. "Are you thinking about them?" Even though the question is barely a whisper, it hits Claire like a slap to the face. She bristles, shoving the magazine back in and shooting Alice a glare from the corner of her eye.

"No." Because of course she **should** be thinking about them. About how she could have made things different. Saved them. That should be the only thing that occupies her thoughts. "Look," and she can hear the annoyance in her voice, the frustration. "Did you want something?" Something clouds Alice face and then is gone too quickly for Claire to recognise it. She sighs and turns her head away, reaching around her body for something beside her. When she turns back, she's rolling a label-less silver can from one hand to the other. Alice is quiet for a few seconds and Claire is too stunned by what she thinks is about to happen to speak. She feels something like nerves claw at her insides.

"I saw you give yours away." The blonde admits, her raspy voice low and her unsettling eyes finally glancing up at Claire through the bangs of her unkempt hair. The redhead shivers and shifts her attention to the sky, still mottled with pinks and purples and reds, as if wanting to blame the action on the creeping cold of night. "The guy; Otto? He said it's pork and beans. Figured maybe you'd want to split mine with me?" Green eyes snap back to iridescent blue.

"Why?" It's harsher than she means it to be and some distant part of her brain asks, in a quiet, timid voice, why things always seems to come out wrong when Alice is around. The newcomer's expression doesn't change, but her eyes drop back to the tin she's still rolling from palm to palm.

"Roasting all those birds kinda took it out of me. I'm not all that hungry." And the simple explanation manages to make Claire feel like an ass. Maybe it's the way Alice says it, voice soft and tentative, or maybe it's because between her asking and receiving an answer she realised this is the first time anyone has ever called her on foregoing a meal so someone else can eat. It's the first time anyone has ever noticed. And realising that, and that it was probably both of those things combined, Claire takes a second to look at Alice. Really look at her. At a glance, she looks like any other traveller Claire might come across, only far more equipped. She looks just as tired as any of them - though she guesses that if she'd been the one controlling a firestorm, she'd have been out a lot longer than a couple of hours - and just as road weary. She looks like she needs a break and Claire, reasons unknown to her in the second it takes her to make the only semi-conscious decision, wants to give her one.

"Sounds good." Alice looks up at her, surprise parting her lips. It's a slip, and Claire would bet money on it not happening very often, because Alice's brain seems to catch up when the redhead pushes a 'thanks' past a knowing smile. The blonde smiles back and leans forward to rest her forearms on her knees. She gestures with the can, waving it towards the convoy leader and raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"You got a can opener?" Claire laughs. It's a little over exuberant and a tad louder than necessary, but for one utterly weird moment, she doesn't care. It feels too good for her to care. She hears Alice chuckle low in her throat and plucks the can from the other woman's grip, unclipping her knife from her belt. She holds it blade up, still grinning.

"If the world going to Hell has taught me anything, it's how to improvise. Seems like can openers were one of the first things to be horded." She pauses, placing the tin onto the flat metal in the space between them and tracing the circular depression around the edge on its top with the knife tip. "And then thrown into some bottomless pit, never to be seen again." She huffs, then lifts her hand, counts to two, and rams it into the top of the tin with just the right amount of force. "I wonder what happened to those things." Claire frowns, using the sharp edge of the blade to widen the incision. "Can openers, nail files, wrenches. Such stupid things that we used to take for granted that people would give their right arm for now." She's created a crude opening at the top of the tin and, gripping the container in one hand, pries the metal back, exposing the slimy, orangey insides.

"Huh." Alice says and it's almost a gasp, one that sounds suspiciously close to one of surprise. From what Carlos had told her, she wouldn't have pegged Alice as someone who could be taken by surprise twice in the same day. "How does he do that? How does he know?" Claire's lips curl in a resigned smile and she shrugs her shoulders.

"He says its a gift." She places the tin back down between them and pulls a rag that looks like its seen better days out of one of the pouches on her belt, using it to wipe the thick sauce from the blade of her knife before she re-sheaths it. She clasps her hands together and rests her forearms on her knees, unconsciously mimicking the tawny-haired woman's stance. "Your powers don't extend far enough past controlling fire to reach guessing tin can contents, huh?" If she hadn't been watching for it, she would have missed the way Alice's entire body froze for a second, as if she were anticipating some kind of impact. It's only when she realises no blow is coming that she loosens her body enough to let out an amused breath.

"I think I pretty much tap out where you saw me." She wants to ask, wants to find a way to do so without causing a more fatal, potentially explosive, freezing reaction. Because she's curious - who wouldn't be? - and as much as Carlos has talked about Alice, he hasn't really explained a lot. Maybe even he doesn't have the answers Claire suddenly finds herself wanting.

"How-" The instant she starts to form the word, she sees Alice's eyes cloud over. Darken. Her face drops all expression, closes up, and Claire feels the air grow cold. She doesn't spare a thought as to whether or not the temperature change is all in her head, she's too focused on wanting to raise it again. She glances down at the food between them, then meets unsure eyes that have turned a blue-green in the dying light. "How do you wanna eat this?" Alice's expression morphs, her eyes twinkle with some hidden secret that makes Claire instantly want to know what it is, and then green eyes blink and suddenly Alice has something in her hand. And she's offering whatever it is out to her like a prized catch. There's a genuine, almost child-like air of something akin to excitement about the quiet loner and Claire feels herself charmed by it. Made all the more curious by it. She takes her inquisitive, lingering gaze from the other woman's face and drops it to her outstretched hand. An off-yellow plastic fork and spoon are clasped in a pale palm and Claire lets out a choked laugh when she realises what she's looking at. Inexplicably, she feels tears pricking the backs of her eyes and she swallows hard to keep them down. A quick glance back up lets her know that Alice has noticed, but isn't about to call her on it.

"Take your pick." So Claire does, taking the fork into her own hand and looking at it like some holy relic. She laughs again.

"You can set the sky on fire and make cutlery appear out of thin air. Anything you can't do?" Alice's lips curve into an amused smirk and she picks up the can, gesturing with the spoon before dipping it into oddly appealing mixture and stirring it thoughtfully. She lifts a mouthful to her lips and parts them, sliding the spoon inside and humming appreciatively. She offers the container to Claire, who takes it with a grateful smile. For a few seconds, she looks at the fork in her hand as if trying to remember how to use it. Then she shakes her head, bemused, and tries to skewer a sausage onto the end of it.

"You know that thing people do with their tongues?" Claire chokes, the sausage only half-chewed being inhaled the complete wrong way. Her wide eyes water and she lets out a few strangled coughs, before she feels a strong hand thump her on the back, freeing the uncomfortably lodged food and allowing her to drag in a few gasps of air.

"**Excuse** me?" She manages in a rough voice, eyebrows almost hitting the top of her forehead. Claire hears the soft sound of quick rhythmic exhalations, sees the other woman's shoulders shaking just slightly, and realises Alice is laughing at her. Albeit quietly. And the look Alice gives her, almost coy and definitely teasing, makes her feel like she should be embarrassed. The chuckle that rumbles low in her throat makes her feel confused.

"Carlos didn't mention that you have a dirty mind." Claire's heart thuds a few beats faster in her chest and mortifyingly, **surreally**, she feels her cheeks redden. Thankfully, Alice's jibes go no further and she slips the can out of Claire's hand. "I meant... you know when people kind of roll it in on the sides and-" Grinning, Claire sticks her curled tongue out of her mouth and Alice's stops mid sentence, pointing the spoon in the redhead's direction. "That. I can't do that." She takes a spoonful and hands the tin back. There is silence for a few, long moments. It's amicable, comfortable even, and both women pause briefly to think about whether or not that's strange. That they can slip so easily into something that should feel alien, but doesn't. That they can feel comfortable around someone they hardly know. Neither are awarded an answer.

"I feel so civilized." Claire remarks, breaking through the quiet of the mainly still camp around them. Most people have stopped to eat. Her eyes have found only Carlos up and moving around from one end of the camp to the other, not yet ready to take a break. She passes the can to Alice, who glances down at it but doesn't take her turn. When piercing blue eyes fail to move from her face, Claire waves her fork from side to side. "Cutlery. All we're missing are the dinner plates."

"You're forgetting fancy napkins." Alice wonders if there's a fancy napkin to be had left in the world. Outside of Umbrella. "I won't let the end of the world turn me into someone who slurps from tin cans." Her eyes slide to their corners, shooting her seatmate a wry look. "No offence." Claire's mouth splits in a grin that shows her teeth, so wide she can feel it pulling at the corners. It cracks a little. It feels good.

"None taken." There's a moment that's too long during which they just look at one another. Really look. They make it past all those first impressions, all the fire and brimstone and questions of moving on. "Look, what I said earlier? About you leaving-" Alice shakes her head and drops it, resignation clouding her face. A look of total understanding that pulls at Claire in a way that makes her want to scream. And she doesn't know why.

"I understand. I'll help anyway I can and then-"

"I was wrong." It isn't something Claire Redfield readily admits to. Usually. She lift a hand to her head, combing her fingers through her hair and away from her face. Alice's eyes are look like ice when they meet hers this time, and she feels like they're stripping something away inside her. She wonders what other abilities Alice has. "I don't make a habit of turning people away. Especially when they save the lives of members of my convoy. Whatever anyone else may feel, first and foremost they should be thankful." Alice's eyes flicker as something Claire can't put her finger on shines in them for a moment.

"If i'd gotten here earlier I could have saved more." It's barely above a whisper and Claire has to strain to hear it, but the self-deprecation comes through loud and clear. It shakes something inside her.

"Alice..." She isn't sure how to continue, how could she be? There's something so broken about the tawny-haired woman, blue eyes staring at nothing - or maybe something just too distant for Claire to see - looking solemn and regretful. She wonders how much pain is bottled inside Alice. She wonders if she ever lets it out. Tentatively, against any better judgement she might feel, Claire reaches out. "Alice, there was nothing more you could have done-" The second Claire's hand makes contact with Alice's arm, the newcomer snaps out of her reverie, violently yanking it out from under the redhead's touch. Shocked, Claire pulls her own hand back and stares at Alice. She doesn't know if she's silently apologising or begging for an answer, but whatever Alice reads on her face sends her upright. Alice looks down at her, darkened sky framing her body, and holds the can out for Claire to take. Still somewhat numbed from shock, the redhead's hand closes around it automatically and she brings it to rest on her knee, gaze never leaving Alice's schooled blank face.

"Thank you." Quiet and all too calm, they are the last words Claire hears before the other woman turns and walks away. Boots not making a sound as they cross the billions of grains of sand beneath them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. Except the story idea.

**A/N: Sorry for the gigantic span of time between updates. I have no excuse other than a lack of muse, but i swear I'm trying to get better with that. ;) Reviews/comments always appreciated. **

* * *

The sky is black when Claire finally moves. She's watched the stars come out and the people finish their food then start preparing themselves for the night ahead. Some brought their stuff out of cramped vehicles and set up camp inside the cleared out rooms of the motel. It wouldn't be much, maybe there would be a mattress or two left between the few rooms, most would be sleeping on the floor, but even just being given the opportunity to stretch out during sleep would make their smiles a little wider in the morning. It's the little things now. Claire wonders what the world before would have been like if they all hadn't taken those for granted.

She hasn't seen Alice since their earlier exchange. Hasn't looked for her either. While she may have wanted to seek her out, find out what exactly she'd said or done wrong - because obvious it had been **something** - and even though she doesn't know really know Alice, she feels like the other woman is someone who doesn't appreciate being chased. She wonders if the newcomer had been like that before all her time alone.

"Mikey." She calls his attention from the computer screen over to her, approaching the open doors of the van with a smile. The sandy-haired Aussie returns it with one of his own, clicking a few buttons on the keypad absently before swivelling his chair to face her. He's handsome, in that boyishly good-looking kind of way, and at first glance you'd think he was more than capable of handling himself, but he's just a kid. At 19, he's mastered their computer setup, saved Claire's life once, K-Mart's twice, and will do just about anything for anyone. But he's 19, barely out of his childhood, and sometimes Claire forgets that. They all do.

"Everything good, Claire?" She inclines her head to the side, resting her hand on her hips and raising both eyebrows.

"Was coming over here to ask you that, camera boy." He glances at the monitor, then back at her.

"All's quiet on my end. Carlos said he was going to do a perimeter sweep though, check things out." Claire lifts a hand to run her fingers through her hair.

"He say when?" Mikey shrugs, checking his watch.

"I spoke to him about an hour ago, he said he was stopping to eat first." Claire raises her arm to look at the watch strapped to her wrist, stepping closer to the light of the van to read the time. She lifts her gaze to him and grins, a mischievous glint in her eyes he doesn't see all that often but knows well enough to expect some form of trouble - mostly harmless - when it makes an appearance.

"If you see him before I do," she starts, pointing a finger at him. "Don't let him take the quad. Tell him to come find me first." He furrows his brow but nods, knowing better than to expect an answer if he were to ask her why.

"Will do." He acquiesces, watching her turn to leave.

"You're a star, Mikey." She calls over her shoulder and jogs away, making for the main entrance of the partially sand-covered motel. She peaks around the doorframe, eyes scanning the candle-lit darkness for any sign of Carlos. He's absent, but she spends a few minutes talking with the few people who have chosen to set up beds just inside the door. Jennifer, Mark and seven-year-old Daniel. The man and woman had been neighbours, funnily enough, and had managed to survive just the two of them for a while. It had been two years ago, so they'd told Claire, when they'd wandered into a derelict school building and found the body of a woman - not more than a few days old - and a toddling, crying little boy. They hadn't been sure what had killed her; she hadn't been bitten and neither had he.

"Things good, boss?" Mark's a nice guy. Tall, bearded and blue-eyed; and a heart as big as the sun. Claire nods and makes small talk for a few minutes, asks if they've seen Carlos before moving on. She checks a couple of the vehicles and is about the head back to Mikey when she spots Carlos leaning against the side of one of the gas tanks, facing a shadowy figure. Claire knows it's Alice. Even though it's too dark to see, she knows, and she makes her way over to them. He spots her first, or so it would seem, and whatever conversation they were having stalls. It raises the hair on the back of her neck.

"Evening, Claire." He greets her with his easy smile and she returns it with a slightly strained one of her own. She feels uncomfortable and isn't entirely sure why, but it bothers her that Alice hasn't acknowledged her yet. The abrupt ending of their earlier conversation left her feeling strange and cold.

"I've been looking all over for you." She's says with a forced lightness to her voice, unconsciously folding her arms across her chest and shifting her stance to one that emanates leadership. "You do the night patrol yet?" He raises an inquisitive eyebrow at her, smiling wide enough to show teeth as though he knows what's coming.

"Not yet, I was just about to when Alice caught up with me." At the sound of her name, Alice finally does turn. Dirty blonde hair, free of the scarf she'd been using to shield her head from the sun, hangs messily just above her shoulders and sways slightly with the motion of her head. Blue-green eyes that are somehow still bright in the dim light meet Claire's and the redhead feels hers legs lock at the knees. Alice's gaze seems to go right through her and it gives her the impression that the near-stranger is picking through her mind, collecting any useful information she might need to call upon later. It's more than unsettling and it rubs something inside the convoy leader the wrong way, almost making her bark out something she'd later regret.

"Claire." But Alice's voice stops her; like a heavy boot squashing a spider. Claire doesn't verbally respond, merely inclines her head in Alice's direction and tears her eyes away, putting her attention back on Carlos.

"You mind if I take this one?" He purses his lips, dangerously close to a smirk, and considers denying the request. Just for fun. They stare at each other for a few long heartbeats, during which Claire's expression never changes, but Carlos just gets closer and closer to that smirk. Eventually, he drops his gaze and lifts his hands in acquiescence.

"I suppose not," he raises his eyes and they twinkle at her. "Boss." Green orbs rolls in over-exaggeration and Claire blows out a breath, white teeth peaking from between smiling lips. Alice shifts in her periphery, stealing her attention for a second.

"Yeah, well. Don't want you having all the fun." She backs away with a wry grin, rolling her eyes again when he touches the first two fingers of his right hand to his forehead in mock-salute. As soon as her back is to them, all humour drops from her features and a frown settles in. Claire doesn't like secrets. Secrets breed lies and there isn't a bone in her body that can feel anything other than revulsion for liars. Cowards lie, to protect themselves. There's a very fine line between an acceptable falsehood and a lie, and it had taken Claire a great many years to figure out where it lay. Telling a child their mother died peacefully so as to avoid having to try and explain a kind of truth their few years can't possibly allow them to understand; Claire's heart told her that was okay. A necessary evil, if you will. Telling a child their mother is really sleeping, is a lie. Because there is a drastic difference between sleep and death, and a child won't forgive you for giving them false hope. And since secrets so often lead to lies, and lies inexorably lead to hurt, Claire doesn't want them near the people of her convoy. Or herself. And ever since Alice showed up, she can't shake the feeling that secrets are being passed around right under her nose.

She knows Alice and Carlos have a history. A history that's tied to Racoon City and therefore weirdly tied to her own. She understands Alice probably knows things about Carlos that she doesn't know, and vice versa, she isn't under any kind of delusion that she might be jealous - she isn't. She doesn't look at Carlos that way. Not anymore. It's not even a case of her needing to know all the facts; she's quiet happy not knowing every single detail of every person's life previous to the end of the world as they knew it. She just likes to know what's going on within her own camp grounds. Alice is a proverbial spanner in the works, messing up her well-oiled machine. She's not ungrateful, she isn't. If she were that kind of person she would have fallen at Alice's feet and kissed them in thanks, but Claire doesn't bow down easily. Alice's fire show had scared the shit out of a lot of people and it was Claire's job to handle that. To fix a situation that had become skewed. At first, it had seemed as though just getting the newcomer to move on would have been for the best. But now, a mere handful of hours and an odd conversation later, it doesn't seem like that anymore. And the cogs of Claire's formerly well-functioning machine are finding it harder and harder to turn with a foreign object jammed in them.

She passes Mikey's van, shoots him a smile and a salute and he laughs, signalling with one of his own. She doesn't pause when she reached the quad, just leans over to check the keys are still in the ignition and then swings a leg over the side.

"Mind if I join you?" She hadn't heard her approach. Seems like she never does. And she isn't anywhere near close to being accustomed to the voice; low and raspy and intense no matter what the woman is saying. Every time she hears it, she's aware that somewhere in the back of her mind she starts thinking about cigarettes and how she'd give her next ten rations for just one of those sticks of gold. She can't stop the reflexive motion of her head snapping in the direction of the voice any more than she can will herself not to breathe. It isn't in her. Her wide eyes take in the sight of the woman before her, more visible against the lamp light spilling from the lantern set atop the back of a nearby vehicle. If she'd been asked before meeting her, she would have told you no one could look good after travelling pretty well non-stop across the country for five years, through god only knows how many hellholes and killing every infected thing they came into contact with. After being involved - the bad way, not that she thought there was really a 'good' way - with Umbrella. After trying to take Umbrella out and had almost gotten killed, then had somehow managed to **survive**. And then she would have laughed if she'd been told the person who had done this really had just been a person, just one. Just her. And she wouldn't have believed someone could control fire and save the lives of every person in her convoy, one single human being. She wouldn't have believed any of it. If she'd been asked **before** meeting Alice. Now, looking at a woman who has lived and fought under a blanket of solitude for five years, who has seen and killed more than Claire could possibly guess at, she doesn't think she could stop believing even if she cared to try. But the Alice's mere presence gives off shadows Claire can't shine a light on, can't understand. And that unsettles her.

Alice's eyes are a darker blue in the dim light and she stares at Claire, unabashed, waiting for an answer.

"Sure." She can hear the uncertainty in the word and can only hope the other woman somehow misses it. Her eyes dart; to Alice, away, and back to her as she fingers the weathered looking bottle opener dangling from the key in the ignition. She grips it by the base and turns it, and the engine roars to life. She tilts her head, enough to glance over her shoulder and make out a slightly blurred female form standing close by. "You getting on?" She calls over the sound of the machine. Everything about Alice sets her on edge. Her penchant for silence, the things she can do, the way she looks right through everyone her eyes land on; how she seems to really **see **them. How even though they haven't met before today, haven't exchanged any vital information, it's as though Alice has a weird unspoken knowledge of her. And the convoy leader isn't one for falling into easy banter with strangers over dinner. It's unusual for Claire, and entirely unwelcome. She doesn't like feeling off her game. "Or did you want to walk?" So of course, she overcompensates with sarcasm. To Alice's credit, she takes it in her stride and Claire knows the other woman is smirking without even looking at her. It's as though Alice is fully aware of Claire's problem with her - though Claire herself isn't even one hundred percent on that - and enjoys messing with her head.

"Wouldn't want you losing me somewhere out there." And Alice chuckles, low in her throat, and climbs onto the back of the ATV. Claire feels the muscles in her back stiffen and she grips the handlebars tighter, feeling the raised patterns printed on them through her gloves. The redhead takes breath, pulling the air deep into her lungs to steady nerves she wasn't aware she still had. Isn't sure why they're even there.

"Hold on." She warns, and then pushes the throttle to make them fly forward. If Alice hadn't been quicker, Claire is pretty sure she would have fallen off the back, but her passenger's reflexes are too well honed for that. She feels Alice's hands cling to her billowing shirt and is pulled back slightly with the motion, but she rights herself and speeds up. Hands settle on her hips, gripping firm enough to add a noticeable pressure but not enough to hurt. The thought pops into Claire's mind unbidden; she wonders how many infected those hands have killed. How strong they must be to do the things Carlos has told her she's done. She wonders what kind of effect that has on a person, all the killing. And then a cold chill sweeps over her skin when she realises she doesn't need to wonder about that.

Their sweep around the perimeter of the camp is done in silence, neither sure if they'll be heard over the sound of the motor and neither wanting to test it. They get sand in their eyes as they survey their passing surroundings, and when Claire turns the quad away from the camp just when Alice expects her to swing inwards, the scraggly-haired woman leans forward until her chest is flush against the redhead's back and she's close enough to speak into her ear.

"Where are we going?" The quad swerves a little and Claire's head turns automatically towards the sound of the voice. Alice has to pull her head back to avoid a collision, and their gazes lock long enough for her lips to curve in a small, apologetic, almost sheepish-looking smile. She blinks in rapid succession, her eyes opening on a different facet of the woman's face each time, and turns back towards the uneven landscape stretching out before them. She adjusts the position of the handlebars, righting them, and aims for a spot where the land rises. She wants to find out what's lying beyond it.

"To take a look around." She calls, keeping her eyes trained on a vague point in the distance. "That okay with you?" Claire feels Alice's grip tighten at her hips and warmth breath ghost past her ear.

"That's fine." Claire lets out a breath, unheard over the rumble of the machine beneath her, and they press on in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Nothing is mine. Except the story idea.

**A/N: Updating a little sooner than last time, hopefully that's a good sign of things to come. Thanks to everyone for the reviews! They really do make a difference, and they make me feel awesome. ;) Once again, let me know what you think - if there's anything you particularly like, or don't. Constructive criticism makes me a better writer, flames make me cry, and reviews make me happy. :D**

* * *

Alice watches their surrounding pass with a vague sense of familiarity. One sand dune looks very much like any other, but something in her tells her that she's been this way before. Maybe this was the direction she'd followed the crows in. She blinks against the wind whipping past her face and blowing her hair back. She can still feel the heat of the fire, the way it made her blood sing, the way it burned. How powerful it had made her feel; how weak she'd felt afterwards. She remembers clutching Carlos, how warm that had felt, seconds before succumbing to the dark of unconscious that usually started out peaceful and always ended with blood. She doesn't call them 'dreams', and 'nightmare' suggests something that isn't real. These are memories, on a constant loop inside her mind with no way to turn them off.

They jerk a little as the front wheels of the ATV hit the slope of the large sand dune and Claire presses the accelerator more firmly as they slow, forcing them up and onward. They tilt, and the redhead uses the handlebars as leverage while Alice, in turn, uses Claire. The messy-haired blonde looks around the red tresses blowing into her face and watches the crest of the hill rapidly approach. She feels a sense of foreboding and excitement as they reach the top and the vehicle starts to straighten out. The quad skids to the side and Claire curls her fingers around the break and applies pressure, slowing them to an eventual halt.

"Great." She mumbles, turning the keys in the ignition and shutting off the engine. "More sand. How... interesting." Claire sighs, lifting a hand to run her fingers through her windswept hair. She feels Alice shift behind her, sees pale skin and intense blue eyes in her periphery and feels the weight of the other woman press against her back.

"No, look." And it's only when Alice lifts her hand to point at something off in the distance that Claire realises there is one still lingering at her hip. Distractedly, she trails her gaze along the arm outstretched close to her face until she reaches the tip of the index finger, and then she squints. All she sees is sand and darkness.

"I don't see any..." She lets the sentence trail off, narrowing her eyes again and then snapping them wide open. "Is that a house?" Excitement bubbling within her, Claire turns her head to look at the older woman leaning into her. Alice's eyes are shining, mirroring the excitement Claire feels, and her lips are parted in a contagious smirk. Unbidden, the redhead feels herself returning it. There's something infectious about the other woman.

"It's a ranch." And there is more exhilaration in those three words than Claire has heard leave the newcomer in the short time she's known her. Feeling anticipation swell within her, she sets green eyes back towards the blurred shadow in the distance and punches the accelerator. She feels Alice's hands grip her tightly and grins into the breeze. The wheels kick up loose sand that blows by them as they ride, eagerness making Claire gnaw absently at her slightly chapped bottom lip. She idly tries to remember when they had last felt soft, but she can't. She misses lip balm.

It seems to take them no time at all to reach the dilapidated building, though maybe Alice had just been too lost in her thoughts to notice the seconds passing. She is uneasy riding the quad version of 'shotgun', more used to being the one driving. The one making the decisions. Being around Claire and her convoy - because it is Claire's convoy, there's no arguing that - is giving Alice an odd kind of reprieve. One she isn't sure is entirely welcome or unwanted. Ever since she stumbled across them, after the impromptu fire show, Alice has felt an unsettling sense of confusion, like she isn't sure what she's supposed to be doing. It frustrates her a little, because she hates not knowing, but it almost soothes some part of her. A part that has loathed responsibilities and their consequences ever since this whole mess began. And while Alice prides herself on never shirking them, sometimes it's nice to put them aside. Just for a second. Let someone else carry a little of the weight. But it's never too long before the guilt returns.

And it's so strange to Alice, but she feels an odd kind of kinship whenever she's around Claire. It's odd because they've barely known each other a day, don't really know each other at all, and it's odd because Alice isn't used to it. Isolation, alienation, being someone and doing things people can't understand even when they bother to take the time to try - these are things Alice is used to. In Claire she sees someone who has also done things others couldn't, or wouldn't. Who has lost lives and taken them. Who fights for a better tomorrow even though she isn't sure any of them will even reach it. The mask of bravery she wears is more defined than Alice's, better at preventing cracks, but for a woman who has spent the majority of the last five years alone she hasn't lost her touch and she can see the strings holding the mask in place. She can see how little it would really take to pry it off, should someone know the right way to grip it.

Briefly, as the they near the farmhouse, Alice wonders if Carlos knows.

The paint of the house is peeling, a hundred sandstorms weathering the wood, and the structure looks like it could crumble should it face a wind strong enough. The quad skids a little as Claire squeezes the break, the back tyres swinging around to the front and levelling the vehicle with the side of the house. The redhead kills the engine and silence envelopes them. Two sets of eyes scan their dim surroundings, two pairs of ears strain for the slightest sound, and when nothing out of the ordinary is immediately forthcoming Alice's hands drop away from Claire's hips and she slides her body away, dismounting the ATV. Claire tugs the keys out of the ignition and drops them into a pouch on her belt, before swinging her leg over the side of the quad and moving to follow Alice. The blonde glances over her shoulder to find the convoy leader a few paces away, prying her glock free from its holster. For a second, their gazes meet.

"Wanna take a look around?" Alice asks with a knowing smile, fingers twitching at her sides, itching with the anticipation of freeing her own guns. But she makes a conscious effort to wait until they are needed. Claire cocks an eyebrow at her and grins.

"Just you try and stop me." Alice lets out a dry chuckle, waving an arm out to indicate that the other woman should lead the way.

"Wouldn't dream of it." Claire smirks to show her teeth and then readily takes the lead, and Alice can't help but note how comfortable she seems in doing so. How the skin of a leader fits so snugly over the other woman's frame. By the time she falls into step, Claire is a few paces ahead of her, kicking up tiny clouds of dust as her boots move across the sand. Alice hears the creaking of wood and flexes the fingers of her right hand, assuring herself it's nothing more than the aged house shifting. Because she knows the difference.

The house is tall and oddly shaped, almost as though the builder had taken tips from a Victorian-era architect who had a penchant for gothic-style buildings. The windows of the upper floor are as long and narrow as that section of the house, giving the edifice the appearance of being very thin. The drab paint, which Alice thinks was once maybe a deep red colour, now looks like nothing more than pale, peeling skin being shed from a eerie exoskeleton. Claire shudders and Alice, unconsciously, feels it ripple through her.

"Home, sweet home." Green eyes glance at her through the darkness and Alice lifts a hand to point toward the wooden gate of the paddock Claire had been approaching before the shadow of the house looming over her had caused her to pause. Red hair sways as Claire turns her head back to find a sign with the words Alice had spoken aloud printed on them in black, faintly outlined letters. Her lips quirk.

"Maybe for the Addams family." Another low chuckle left Alice and over it she hears the sound of metal against wood, and then the protesting screech of hinges as Claire pushes the gate inwards. The paddock is small, enough to house a couple of horses, and the metal feeding trough had been turned over and rusted through long before they got there. The texture of the ground beneath them shifts once they're within the enclosure, and without looking down Alice guesses that this particular plot of land had once been grassy. Her eyes flit downwards, her feet not pausing in their half-strides, and she sees sporadic patches of browning lawn littering the floor of the paddock. Briefly, as she looks back towards the darkened house they are cautiously approaching, she wonders what the area would have looked liked in its heyday. Before.

When they reach the other side of the corral, Claire tries lifting the latch but it refuses to move. She doesn't look back at Alice, but the blonde can sense her want to. She can feel Claire's eyes shifting to their corners. And then the other woman is up on the first beam of the fence, clambering over it, even though they both know Alice could probably have found a way to either open or obliterate it. And the fact that Claire didn't ask doesn't bother Alice, it's that the redhead forcibly stopped herself from asking that causes the older woman to frown. But then Claire's feet hit the sandy ground on the other side of the fence and she's waiting for Alice to join her. The blonde grips the top beam with both hands and bends her body out and away, pushing all her weight back. Then with only the barest whisper of an exhalation, she throws herself forward, lifts her legs to the side and lets the momentum carry her right over the fence. She lands beside Claire without a sound, and jade eyes that glitter in the dim light are smiling at her as they roll.

"You're kind of a show off." And it's all Alice can do to withhold the noise of indignation trying to force its way from her. But Claire doesn't give her time to respond anyway; she's creeping up the concrete steps that lead to the front door of the oddly shaped house before Alice can blink.

When she sees the redhead crouching before the arching door, looking at her with an eyebrow raised in question, an urge rises in Alice that she isn't used to fighting off. It's an urge that makes her want to pull Claire back, behind her, so she can check things out first. Make sure the interior of the building in safe. But it's a point that has been made very clear: Claire Redfield does not need protecting. Still, as Alice has had to learn the hard way, gut instincts are a hard thing to shake.

Alice positions herself behind Claire, nodding in silent communication when the redhead, hand on the doorknob, looks at her for affirmation. There's a quiet squeak and the creak of wood and soon enough, they're inside an almost pitch black hallway. The only thing giving them any kind of light is the moon outside, but neither are willing bring out flashlights or light flares just yet. No need to alert anything inside to their presence before they're ready. She fights the impulse to move first, can feel her muscles tensing as they prepare to take her swift and stealthily through the house, but she distracts herself by finally freeing her gun. Its weight is familiar and comforting, and she's long since come to terms with that. Though it was never handling a weapon that bothered her. That was something she'd always enjoyed, relished. It was how easy drawing and firing it had become. Before, when there were laws and prohibitions in place, using a gun had always been a last resort; something to be done when there was no other way out. Now it had become Alice's autopilot response. And that had unsettled and frightened her for along time. It had taken a while to come to terms with everything, not that she had had a lot of downtime in those early days. It was only when she'd set out on her own, to evade Umbrella, that she was given a moment to reflect. On what had happened, the people she had so quickly come to know and then lose, the idea that the world was forever changed and the one she now lived in required her to be the person she'd become. A person who could do things others couldn't. Who would shoot first, to protect, and ask questions later. And she fights with that person everyday, because she remembers how the world was before, how she was, and she misses it. That lost part of herself. But she knows there's no point in pining for something that's gone and isn't ever coming back. Knows that while Umbrella might be behind the battle that was still raging, she'd inadvertently started the war. And if she'd just done things differently, made different choices... But Alice tries not to think about that too often. Because after everything she's seen, the things she's done, if there is one thing that will drive her to the brink of insanity and finally hurl her over it, it will be those thoughts.

Claire's lithe figure finally shifts beside her and the redhead takes the first few tentative steps into the gloom. Alice follows, the few seconds of down time allowing her eyes to adjust and she can see that the room they're in is a kitchen. Or, used to be. The sink had been pulled free from the wall and tossed to lie upside down against the linoleum of the floor, scattering bits of chalky rubble everywhere. Claire steps carefully around the wreckage and Alice's watches, her feet falling into the same spaces moments later, and they move around the table that has been overturned in the middle of the room. At least, Alice thinks it's a table. It's hard to tell under the inches of dirt and dust. The room is small, probably no more than six by eight feet, but it's compact and looks like it would have held everything someone living in the middle of the Nevada desert might need in a kitchen. Old and most definitely broken appliances litter some of the counter space, a few of the cupboard doors hang limply from one hinge, and everything is coated in a thick layer of dusty sand, blown in from the broken windows no doubt.

"Looks homey." Alice drawls quietly, running her index finger over top of an old coffee maker and then rubbing the digit clean with her thumb. Claire glances back over her shoulder and smiles when she sees Alice looking back at her with raised eyebrows.

"Looks like whoever lived here could have used a house keeper." Claire quips, using the barrel of her gun to knock over a half eaten cereal box container. A few kernels spill out, looking as though they would disintegrate upon being touched, but the mouse Alice had expected to scurry out doesn't appear. She is about to comment on the lack of rodents, when a sudden clattering noise makes their heads snap in the direction of the only doorway leading out of the room. Their guns come up in unison, Claire handling her glock with both hands, and Alice using her left to draw her second gun from it's holster to join its twin, all three barrels fixed on the open doorway.

Silence. It's quiet enough that Alice is sure she can hear Claire's muscles tensing. Sure she can feel the other woman's breaths shifting the molecules of air between them.

"Looks like whoever lived here might still be around." She whispers, drawing Claire's green-eyed gaze for a few seconds. Then, by unspoken agreement, they both lapse into silence. Shifting her left hand so it better supports the butt of her gun, Claire starts forward, taking care to avoid stepping on anything that could alert whatever was in the next room to the fact that they were no longer alone. Alice follows, training her hearing so she is able to block out any unimportant noise and then her head is filled with the sounds emanating from the other room, the slightly elevated tempo of Claire's breathing, and her own heartbeat.

A muted scuffling, like a heavy garbage bag being hauled across a carpeted floor, reaches Alice's ears and she glances at the redhead to see if she hears it too. Claire's posture is taut and her attention trained solely on the doorway ahead of them, and everything about the way she moves; the way her head is tilted slightly to one side, tells Alice's she's more than on top of the situation. Alice can practically hear the cogs of Claire's brain turning, formulating a plan.

In the handful of seconds she's taken to pause and watch the other woman, its become more apparent than ever that Claire is the physical embodiment of a leader. Her movements are schooled, calculated, her eyes take in every inch of the space surrounding them and her gun is in her hands before there's time for any approaching danger to breathe. Alice can't help but admire the redhead. She has so much courage and strength surging through her veins, and a not a whiff of T-Virus anywhere on her. Alice is almost jealous, but the thought is pulled from her just as she registers it by the near overpowering stench of infected flesh. It hits her with the force of a freight train and her fingers respond for the rest of her body, tightening around her guns.

"You smell that?" Claire whispers a few moments later, turning her head to look at Alice's over her shoulder. Scraggly blonde hair sways with the nodding motion of Alice's head and Claire makes a conscious effort to breathe through her mouth. "Stinks like death."

"Infected." Alice mumbles, voice low and scratchy. They look at each other for a second longer until Claire breaks the connection by inclining her head and turning her attention back to the dark doorway. Silently, Alice complies by moving to stand shoulder to shoulder with the redhead and in an odd moment of symbiotic thinking they both take their first step into the other room.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine. Except the story idea.

**A/N: This is my first attempt at any kind of 'fight scene', so bear with me. I'm hoping I'll get better with practise. I give credit for the idea of the assailants in this chapter to my girlfriend, Foxfire141. I was trying to come up with something cool and she helped. A lot. Thanks, babe. ;) Sorry for the wait in between updates, I promise I'm trying to get these out as quickly as I can. As always, love to hear what you think, so let me know! Thanks to everyone who's sticking around and leaving reviews - it means a lot! Reviews feed me. They are my fuel. I'm not saying I'll die without them but… I might.**

* * *

The only light touching the room is that of the moon framing their forms in the doorway, blackness hangs in a thick blanket over everything else. Claire feels it pressing in on her, heavy and suffocating, so she takes a quiet breath and fumbles her way into one of the pouches on her belt. She pulls out a pocket flashlight, but doesn't turn it on. Instead she waits, and listens. She can't hear her, but she can feel Alice beside her. Charging the air between them. There's a dull thud, then a familiar moaning sound that's punctuated by a noise similar to teeth grinding against one another. And it's what Claire was waiting for. Her upper body shifts to the left, hand holding the flashlight rocketing upwards, and then a beam of light bursts into existence, shattering the near darkness.

The carpeted floor is littered with indiscernible objects and it appears to be just as grime-covered as the kitchen, but a track has been cleared through the middle of the room and Claire's light rests on the cause. He'd probably been a ranch worker, maybe even the owner, at one point but now all that's left of him is an upper body leaking entrails and a foul stench. Thick blackish-red puddles trail behind him, soaking into the dusty carpet as he drags himself by grey, bloodied fingers across it. He had been crawling away from them, but as the beam from Claire's flashlight catches his lifeless and milky pale blue eyes, his head snaps back into an unnatural angle so he can see them. And then with a guttural, wet-sounding screech, he swings his arms around and with broken fingertips, starts crawling towards them.

Unconsciously, Claire takes a step backwards and Alice is powerless against the urge to shift ever so slightly in front of her. It's barely noticeable and she's fairly certain Claire doesn't register the movement, but it happens, and Alice feels simultaneously more at ease in her new position and altogether more uptight. The skeletal figure, now nothing more than a shadow of his former self, claws his ways forward gnashing his teeth and spitting toxic looking sludge as he shrieks and groans, arms reaching out for them and dead eyes seeing only fresh flesh.

"Your bullet or mine?" Claire asks, voice at normal volume now, and Alice's eyes flicker to meet hers. Claire can't pinpoint the emotion in them, but she doesn't have time to because the blonde's lips twitch and slide into a half smile and Claire forgets to do everything but watch as Alice speaks.

"Neither." The stoic fighter breathes, and then in a split second she has holstered her guns and produced the twin kukri knives from their sheathes at her lower back. With a deft efficiency and blinding speed, Alice flips the blades around in her hand and closes the distance between herself and the gaunt infected. There's a distant rumbling of thunder and it reaches Claire's ears just as Alice lifts a heavy boot and plants it against the side of his rotting face, holding him in place. A flash of glimmering silver arcs with a practised ease, a sickening wet crunching sound, and it's done. His head comes off clean, rolling a few inches with the momentum, and a pool of dark red blood leaks from his neck. Alice backs away before it reaches the toe of her boot, face twisted into a grimace of revulsion. She turns to look at Claire, who is staring at her with wide eyes, flashlight still lifted and gun gripped loosely in her hand now dangling by her side.

"Thank you." Alice isn't sure why Claire is saying it, as far as she can tell there's no need to be thankful, but whatever the reason the way the redhead says the words jars something in Alice. Claire means it. Still, it's been so long since she's heard them or felt justified in hearing them that their meaning had worn thin. She'd forgotten the full impact they can have. Until now. And now Alice is entirely unsure of how to respond. So she holds eye contact for a few more heartbeats, feels the words slide under her skin and settle with a comfortable weight somewhere inside her chest, and then drops her head. She lifts her hands to inspect the blades she holds in them, watches the tar-like blood run off of them in thick rivulets and angles one of them so it drips onto the carpet in intermittent blobs. Claire wonders what she's thinking as she watches Alice watch the blood, but she doesn't ask. Knows she more than likely wouldn't get an answer anyway.

"You're welcome." Alice's gravely voice surprises them both, but she doesn't give either of them time to react before she's speaking again. "Maybe we should give this place a once over before we really start looking around." Claire nods mutely, unsure of how else to respond, and she moves the beam of light emanating from her flashlight away from where it had come to rest on Alice's face, shining it around the room. There's very little furniture; a threadbare couch that had been turned onto its back and more than likely had been home to a family of mice at one point, judging by the various holes littering the material.

A coffee table, an old tube television complete with rabbit ears, and an overturned bookcase - the contents of which were littered across the floor, covered in sand - are the only real items of interest, the rest are stepped over as Claire and Alice make their way through the room. Olive-green eyes follow the beam of light as it scans the peeling walls, a floral patterned wallpaper just visible beneath the grime, and find dusty pictures of the once occupants of the house. Looking happy, full of life. They remind her of the photos that used to line the walls of her own home, the single one she keeps in her otherwise empty wallet, and the memories force her eyes away.

"Upstairs?" She turns suddenly to speak to Alice, but finds the blonde closer than she expected and Alice has to take a step back to avoid a collision. But there's a second before Alice can move and before Claire can register what she's doing in which the redhead involuntarily reaches forward to steady herself and presses a flat palm to an equally flat stomach. And Claire feels fire shoot along every nerve ending in her arm. It spreads quickly, far too quickly to slap any kind of mental block on it, and then her entire body is silently screaming. But then Alice steps back and the contact is broken, and Claire is too confused and flustered to even register that she should stop and take a second to think about what she'd felt.

"Sorry." Alice murmurs, feet rustling against some newspaper littering the floor. The noise sounds so loud to Claire, as though it echoes in the room and is competing against the thudding of her heart that races in her ears. "Yeah, let's check upstairs." Alice walks a few paces from her until she's level with the only other door leading out of the room and then she stops, glancing back towards Claire. And it takes the redhead a minute of staring to realise, to calm her breathing enough for her to remember how to think, that Alice is waiting for her and her flashlight. Her hair sways as she shakes her head to clear it and she starts forward, bringing the flashlight back up to light the way. The door is open and Claire only hesitates briefly before stepping through it and into a narrow hallway.

Alice slides her kukri blades, wiped clean of any blood, back into their sheaths and frees one of her pistols. She follows Claire, finding a staircase and little else in the room beyond. It's dark, but Alice's eyes adjust quickly and she scans the parts of the room the other woman's flashlight doesn't reach. There's a door at one end the end of the hallway that, Alice presumes, leads to the back of the property and the other is a dead end. An old coat stand lies tilted against the wall, a forgotten jacket hanging from one of the pegs, but that's it. Alice can still smell the blood from the infected in the other room, so she doesn't register the trail leading from the foot of the stairs until her boot come down on top of a thick streak of it. She wrinkles her noise and makes a noise in the back of her throat, drawing Claire's light back to her.

"Looks like our friend used to have a room upstairs." In the dimness, Alice can see Claire's mouth turn down in a look of disgust as she shakes her foot, wet blobs swinging free and landing against the hardwood with a sodden splat.

"Oh god." Alice's is sure she can hear Claire's stomach churning. "That's so gross." And there's something about the redhead's discomfort, the slight whine to her voice, that amuses Alice. So she shakes her foot again, a little more vigorously, and tracks every loosened speck of coagulated blood as it sails through the air and comes to land dangerously close to Claire. "Hey! Watch where you're shaking that shit!" Alice's laughter is little more than a rumbling in her chest, but Claire feels the vibrations from it, and she isn't sure that she can legitimately blame the sudden rush of heat to her face on rage, but she's going to anyway.

"Sorry." Claire rolls her eyes at the rough apology and turns to make her way up the stairs, but stalls. She can't explain it, but she can feel her gut pulling her towards the door leading outside and she rarely fights against her instinct. "Let's check out back first. Make sure there's nothing out there that can sneak in on us." With a ghost of a smile still playing across her lips, Alice inclines her head in agreement and follows Claire as she reaches for the handle of the door and pulls it open. It almost feels like it's going to tear right off its hinges and the screen door rattles in her grip, but they make it to the back of the house without anything falling in on them.

There's an outbuilding that looks as though a strong wind might blow it over; Claire isn't entirely sure how with the storms rolling in as of late its managed to survive. A gnarled, leafless tree towers behind it, stretching twisted limbs out to provide an eerie backdrop to this section of the ranch and almost touching the sides of the twin metal silos sat to the far right of the outbuilding. A miniature vehicle graveyard has been set up to their left; rusting shells of farm equipment that are unidentifiable to the untrained eye, ancient-looking automobiles and a single motorbike that looks like it has seen far better days. Corroded by the sun and weather, paint stripped and bitten by sandstorms, they had been left to die quiet deaths, doomed never to fulfil another purpose. Looking at them made something in Claire ache. Various tarp-covered mounds are stacked side by side here and there as are tarnished metal barrels, but she doesn't get a chance to ponder of what might be inside.

"Something's not right." But Alice's voice draws her attention away from the sad sight, eyebrows knitting together as she looks up from her position one step down from where the blonde stands. Alice's eyes are wide, flickering from every surface but never lingering too long, taking in every tiny detail. The sudden rolling growl of thunder makes Claire start and tilt her head skyward, where she scans the star-speckled darkness and deepens her frown.

"No lightening." Alice shifts in her periphery. Her entire body goes tight and she whips her gun up so fast that Claire's sure she'd have whiplash if she'd been quick enough to follow the movement. The blonde's face is shadowed and set with grim determination and her eyes hold a gleam Claire can't quite put a name to.

"That's because that wasn't thunder." They turn in unison when they hear it; the sound of something sharp scratching across metal. Claire thinks she's hallucinating at first, too much time in the desert. Alice wonders if she maybe never woke up from her impromptu nap after the roasting of the crows and is still dreaming. Two giant, hulking white tigers stand atop the rusting car tops, their fur a deep red around their maws and their eyes a sightless pale blue. The fur about their bodies is pristine, looking somehow undamaged by weather, and they don't appear as gaunt as one might think they would after so long with food; not that they need it. If it weren't for their eyes, at first glance you might not think they'd been affected by the virus Alice can smell running through them, but to her it's undeniable. They are thick with it. Both woman take in the sight before them in a second. Neither of them has time to produce a 'why' or 'how'. Before they can blink, and with the same sound they can now identify as razor-sharp claws against steel, the tigers leap for them.

Alice shifts her aim just before her finger squeezes the trigger, firing off three shots in rapid succession. The first misses, but the second two sink into the neck of the tiger gunning for Claire just as she falls under the weight of the one who has its sights set on her. She falls awkwardly against the concrete steps and hears a sickening crack as her head hits the edge of one, but she pushes the pain and dizziness away. Blackening teeth that look as sharp as knives fill her vision as the tiger tries to get a grip on her face, but Alice manages to get her hands - freed of her gun during the impact - up in time to grip the animal's muscled neck. She holds on long enough to slide her left forearm into place as a brace, holding the dangerous jaws of the tiger away so she can search the ground nearby for her gun with her right. The beast's breath is hot against her face and in between its snarls of hunger and rage she can hear Claire panting, but the tiger's body is pinning her in a way that obscure her view and she can't see the other woman.

"Claire!" Alice grunts, desperately grasping for her weapon that is nowhere to be found. She grits her teeth as the weight of the tiger bears down on her, pressing closer until she can feel the thick dried strands of the fur around its muzzle touching her cheek, and her muscles burn in silent protest as she flexes them to force it just that little bit further away. The sound of a gunshot slices through the air, and Alice isn't sure if the beast above her is startled or if its coincidence, but the searing sensation of claws sinking into the flesh above her hipbone suddenly rips through her like a hot knife through butter. She grits her teeth once more and resists the urge to scream. "Claire! Answer me!" Her voice is raspy, broken by desperation and urgency, and when she gets no response tendrils of worry and anger set her blood boiling. She senses the now familiar sensation of her head swelling, blazing heat behind her eyes and all the breath in her body being taken from her with a rush of strength and adrenalin. And she welcomes it. Her pupils dilate, she can feel it, and all she has to do is think it. With a growl of dissatisfaction, the tiger is torn from her as if pulled by an unearthly unseen force. Her vision is blurred long enough that she doesn't see it land, but she hears its crumpled form smash through a wall of metal, hears the echo of its neck snapping inside her head, and knows.

Without pausing to catch her breath, she rolls into a standing position and finds Claire lying a few yards away, a motionless tiger almost covering her entirely. Her eyes are closed and Alice can see that she's stopped struggling against the huge cat. Something grips her, something that feels a lot like a forgotten memory resurfacing for the first time in aeons, and it's only once she's closed the distance between them and is bending to haul the tiger off the convoy leader that she realises what it is. It's fear, and it's thick and heavy and she isn't used to feeling it for anyone other than herself. When she moves around to better grip the beast, she sees the gruesome, messy hole the gunshot made through its skull and kneels to roll the tiger to the side, freeing Claire's slightly battered form. The redhead doesn't move. Alice lifts two trembling fingers, not wanting to believe that there is another layer of blood to coat her already scarlet hands, and presses them to the pulse point in Claire's neck. There's a second or two of contact before Alice registers a heartbeat. Before a gasp fills the suddenly startlingly quiet night and green eyes fly open. Alice's own almost close in relief.

"Alice." Claire rasps, fingers curling around the wrist of the arm close to her in a death grip. Their eyes meet and the blonde feels some turbulent force inside her settle. "Where the **fuck** did those things come from?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: Nothing is mine. Except the story idea.

**A/N: A huge, HUGE (we're talking Universe-like huge here) thank you to Divodog for her beta reading skills, advice/input and... well, just her general and awesome encouragement. This chapter would have probably been another month (sorry about that) in the making if she hadn't dropped me an inbox message. ****Again, sorry for the delay in posting this next part. Block is a bitch and i have no other excuse, but i'm hoping the fact that this update is a little longer than normal will make up for it. ;)** As always, please feel free to let me know what you think! Likes/dislikes/general comments, whatever! Always appreciated. :D 

* * *

"Vegas?" Alice offers, free arm moving so she can run a hand down over Claire's legs. "Can you feel that?" The redhead nods, peering curiously up at Alice and wondering if the warm sensation she feels sweeping through them is just the blood flowing back.

"Yeah. I think I'm okay." She frowns and reiterates Alice's question. "Vegas?" Alice brings her gaze back up, checking the fallen woman over for any visible injuries along the way, and cocks an eyebrow.

"Can you think of any other reason two white tigers would be prowling the middle of the desert?" Alice lifts a hand, running it methodically over red hair and probing the back of Claire's skull. "Did you hit your head?" Claire shivers, but shakes her head and releases her grip on Alice's arm to prop herself up on her elbows. "We probably just put down Siegfried and Roy's two most prized pets." The blonde gets to her feet and, smirking a little, holds out her hand towards the fallen woman.

"Yeah, well, somehow I don't think they're going to miss them." Without hesitation, Claire grasps the proffered hand and allows Alice to pull her up. It's then that she sees the marks in the other woman's side. Instinctively, she reaches out with her hands and ducks her head to inspect the wound. "You're hurt." Claire's fingers tease the shredded material at Alice's hip, gently parting the blood-soaked scraps to find the deep, gaping punctures that stretch from her hip bone to half way towards the blonde's bellybutton. She grimaces, taking in the almost serrated-looking flesh, and as her thumb grazes the unmarred skin just below the wounds, Alice flinches. Claire's hands still.

"It's nothing." She tries to move away but Claire advances on her, though she has the good grace to let her hands fall from the other woman. "I'll be fine." Claire's forehead creases and her brows knit together as she lifts her head to stare at Alice. And Alice can see the fear on her face plain as day.

"Did that... did that come from one of them?" Without shifting her gaze, Claire gestures behind herself to the motionless form of the once proud, majestic animal. Alice's eyes don't leave the green ones before her, but she remains silent as she watches the lines fade from the other woman's forehead and can't help but hear Claire's heartbeat pick up speed. "Alice." She's grown accustom to people sounding afraid when speaking to her, but Claire seems afraid **for** her, and Alice isn't used to that. "Alice, if one of those things mauled you then we need to-"

"I'm already infected, Claire." The Earth stops moving beneath their feet, they know because they feel it jerk as it stalls. Almost like someone is trying to pull a rug out from under them. Claire feels a sudden weakening of her knees, but locks them to avoid a fall. Her mind races, but she can't pinpoint a single thought long enough to give it a voice, so she just stares. With confused green eyes and mouth half open, she stares. And Alice's suddenly cold, empty eyes are staring right back. "Don't worry, I'm not contagious." She says it in a forced, offhanded manner, like it would be a joke under any other circumstances, but it's one Claire wouldn't ever find funny.

"What do you mean you're already **infected**?" Claire spits the word out like its poison and in the back of her mind she's counting the bullets left in her gun. The realization makes her shiver.

"I worked for Umbrella." Claire blinks twice in rapid succession and unconsciously takes a slight step backwards. Alice notices. "I was head of security, but I was trying to stop them when the virus got out." And the Earth rockets back into motion, feeling to Claire as though it's spinning at a thousand times its normal speed. She doesn't understand and the panic makes her sweat, makes her dizzy. Alice pauses, running through her memories and trying to decide which bank would be the least detrimental to pull from. She decides to skip a stack. "I was captured by a man named Isaacs. He... experimented on me. Injected me with the T-Virus to see what would happen. He wanted to play God; create new, superior life." All at once, Alice looks weary. All strength and power just seems to drain from her posture, and it's as though Claire is looking at an entirely different person. "I bonded with the virus. Instead of killing me it changed me, turned me into something new." Blue eyes are fixed on a spot somewhere past Claire. "He got what he wanted. Frankenstein made his monster. And one day I'll kill him for it." The revelation is too much for Claire to comprehend and yet not enough. There's so much venom in Alice's words and Claire doesn't understand what she's saying. She wants to ask questions but her mouth won't form the words. She's frozen, immobile, and Alice feels the chill rolling off of her like waves. She braces herself against the familiar sting of it.

Every rational thought Claire can pick out of the jumble is telling her to retreat. To leave Alice right where she stands, get back on the quad and back to her convoy. But her feet won't move, and she's sure it's the thoughts she **can't** make sense of that are rooting her to the spot.

"I... I should have told you. But I didn't know how." Alice's whispered confession ripples the air around them like a gunshot. She doesn't need to say that she won't burden the convoy any longer than she has to, that she'll leave - though part of her expects Claire to ask - because her posture screams it, and sad eyes find Claire's for half a second before Alice turns to walk back to the house. And something indefinable grasps the redhead in that short span of time. Her hand moves to grip Alice's left wrist and the blonde stops, and waits, even though Claire knows she could have easily broken the hold.

"I'm sorry." Even though she isn't sure exactly what she's apologizing for, she doesn't mean it any less. Alice doesn't look at her, doesn't speak, but she takes the words in with closed eyes and releases a breath she is unaware she had been holding. It's Claire who breaks the contact. Alice sighs heavily and continues on her way, finally spotting the gun that had been jarred from her grip during the fight and bending to retrieve it. They move towards the back door of the house in silence.

When they re-enter the hallway Claire recoils at the stench of death, her brief stay outside breathing in clearer air making the effects all the worse. Unbidden, her eyes fall to the messy trail of blood smeared across the floor and she feels her stomach churn at the sight of it. She pushes the threatening rise of bile away and focuses her gaze on the top of the staircase. Quietly, she walks towards it, her boots making little to no sound against the floor. Alice's eyes follow her movements, head thrumming from the stress of the conversation they'd just had. The cloying sense of dread and unease sifts through her, the weight of knowing she'll be doomed to isolation once more knotting her muscles as it trickles over them. It isn't as though she was unaware it was an inevitability, she'd been fully prepared to move on once she'd felt she'd done all she could within the convoy, but that part of her that so missed human contact had hoped it would last that little bit longer. Had hoped, somehow, this time would be different.

Claire produces her flashlight from one of her many belt pouches and shines it down towards the stairs. Blood drips from the hardwood, creating a slow, morose waterfall that descends from each step, and Claire hugs the wall to avoid stepping in it as they ascend. Alice tails her, eyeing the blood trail as they pass it, and tuning her hearing to any sounds that might be emanating from the upper floor.

"Something's up here." A slight creak works its way free of the aging wood beneath Claire's feet as her movements still and, gun still trained ahead of her, she turns her head to look at Alice.

"I don't hear anything." She whispers after a few seconds of silent listening. The ghost of a smile passes over Alice's lips so quickly that Claire can't be sure she really saw it.

"I did." The blonde inclines her head, motioning for the woman leading the way to continue. She does.

When they hit the top, they find themselves in another dark narrow hallway, this one with three rooms branching off of it: one to their immediate left, another straight ahead, and the last to the far right. Claire glances over her shoulder again and meets Alice's eyes, and for a second the blonde thinks the convoy leader is going to ask her something, but then her gaze falters and returns to the rooms before them. She tilts her beam of light downwards to find the blood smears leading into the one nearest to them and takes a breath. The floorboards creak faintly as Claire cautiously moves to push open the door to their left with the barrel of her gun and Alice's raises her own, stepping back just far enough so she can point it comfortably over the redhead's shoulder. The hinges of the door protest loudly at Claire's persistence, but it eventually swings open with an metallic shrieking that makes her teeth hurt. Neither woman has chance to take in the newly revealed room.

A wet, broken-sounding growl fills the air that is suddenly thick with the stench of decay milliseconds before a mottled mass of fur is lunging at them. Alice doesn't think, doesn't have time to, she shuts everything else out and just reacts.

Claire's shirt feels rough against Alice's palm as it slides against it. Her left arm winds around Claire's middle, pulling the redhead back and flush against her. Alice retracts the hand holding her gun and draws it in close, then in a blur of motion she's moving them. In an instant that flies by so quickly Claire doesn't have time to blink, the convoy leader finds herself pressed against the wall beside the door with Alice's body covering her own. There's a dull thud, accompanied by the scraping of nails, as whatever lunged at them lands somewhere behind them in the hallway. Claire's eyes flick to stare over Alice's shoulder. The blonde sees them widen, feels Claire's back muscles tense against the arm Alice still has around her and, without moving it, she turns her body to face the animal.

Hunched as though remembering some long practiced but forgotten instinct, the tiger looks ready to pounce. It is a far cry from its glory days, almost unrecognisable for what it is beneath the patchwork quilt of matted red-brown fur. It's back legs continue to function, allow it to stand, despite a lot of the muscle mass having apparently been torn from the bone and thin strings of deep red trail from them as a reminder of what used to be there. The fur along its tail is split so that one of bone and one of mangled, patchy flesh twitch in unison and eventually join back into one near the animal's rear. Sporadic areas of fur remain along its back, thickening towards its neck and along the animal's front legs, but its chest has been torn to leave two thirds of its ribcage visible, and putrid, rotten half-chewed remnants of its insides spill from between the cracks. Its dead eyes stare at them from sunken, black-rimmed sockets. Unseeing, cold, and mindlessly hungry. Skin and fur have been shredded to reveal the right side of a powerful jaw that hangs open in the hopes something will fall into it.

Claire doesn't know when, but in the infinitesimal amount of time that has passed while they gazed at the creature, Alice has dropped the weapon she was holding and pulled the shotgun free from the sheath lying against her back. It takes no longer than a few seconds. Alice straightens her arm and her aim, training it on the tiger, and watches as stiffening muscles, still somehow manage to respond to the dead animal's command, ripple as it makes to leap. And just as she releases a breath, her finger squeezes the trigger. Claire's eyes close against the image of the tiger's head seeming to explode, but the gunshot rings in her ears and makes her see a blazing white light behind her eyelids. But the noise gradually fades to nothing, and as it does Claire feels Alice turn back towards her, and she lets her eyelids blink open.

"Are you okay?" Alice's gravelly voice smoothes away any remaining uncomfortable ripples from the gunshot blast and Claire nods wordlessly. Because the fact that Alice has just saved her life, again, registers as she asks the question, and Claire isn't sure 'thank you' will cover it. Alice deposits the mossberg back into its holder without looking and Claire finds herself appreciating the simple fluidity of the motion. With a last lingering look, Alice slides the arm nestled between Claire and the wall free and backs away from the redhead, turning to face the downed tiger after a few steps. Alice settles awkwardly to one knee before it and green eyes travel over the new comer's stooped form before Claire pushes her body off the wall and lets the momentum carry her forward.

"It looks so much worse than the two outside." Claire's eyebrows knit together to form a frown as she stands looking down at the body of the beast. Alice reaches out to touch the felled animal and the convoy leader has to fight the urge to bat her hand away. She can't be positive, but she's pretty sure Alice wouldn't take kindly to that sort of reaction. Still, it's a hard urge to control after going so long spending day to day trying to maintain as little contact with the infected as possible, but sometimes it was unavoidable. Alice's hand grips it by the patch of fur remaining at the scruff of its neck and she tilts its head to the side. A chunk of muscle has been torn from its throat to leave an oozing, red-brown wound surrounded by ragged flesh and as Alice assesses the rest of the tiger more closely, she can see that the majority of the wounds smattering the carcass look similar.

"That's because they tried eating this one." Claire's features twist into a look of disgust. "Hunger must have gotten the better of them, so they decided to pick off the weakest member of their pack. I guess this guy looked more appetizing than the rust buckets and sand outside."

"That's not normal, is it?" Claire's question pulls Alice's gaze up so that they are looking at one another. "For an infected to eat something else that's infected?" With a half-hearted lifting and lowering of her shoulders, Alice's shrugged and released her hold on the tiger's head, allowing it to loll back against the blood-spattered floor.

"Nope. But it happens. Who knows how long those crows that attacked the convoy had been feeding on infected flesh." Alice stands, flinching as she straightens her back and the tender skin around the wounds in her stomach is pulled. Again, Claire reaches out. With hands that have dressed likely hundreds of wounds over the last few years, she pushes up what's left of the right side of Alice's shirt and ducks her head to once again inspect the damage. The raw pink tissue bordering the gashes looks angry and inflamed, but the bleeding has stopped to leave ugly congealed blotches and trails along Alice's hip and abdomen. It looks a lot messier that Claire suspects the wounds actually are.

"We need to clean you up." She lets Alice's shirt slide back into place and turns, shining the flashlight she's still somehow gripping in her hand towards the room the tiger had lunged out at them from. "Maybe we can find something here."

"I'm fine." Alice's low voice insists, but Claire doesn't even bother glancing back at her.

"I didn't ask you how you were, Alice." The blonde visibly bristles and is instantly thankful the convoy leader has her back to her. Once again Alice finds herself in need of being reminded; Claire is the leader here. And while she might not be Alice's leader, there was still a certain way the redhead did things, and she had to respect that. Quietly, Alice follows the other woman into the room, bending to retrieve the gun she dropped mid-stride.

"I mean you don't need to waste the supplies on me." She breathes, stepping over the threshold and into what looks like a bathroom minus the bath. In the darkness Alice can make out a sink, smashed mirror still holding onto the wall above it, a toilet and an old fashioned looking shower. The shower curtain has been ripped from most of the metal rings securing it to the rail above the spray head, but it clutches to the last couple and Alice's icy blue eyes follow it down to the blood smeared linoleum floor. "It'll heal." A bloody, elongated hand print marks the last two feet of the formerly beige shower curtain then disappears into a small pool of blood. Claire turns the thin beam of light down towards it, following the tiny stream that sifts off from it and leads to the crumpled bottom half of a human being. The shattered remains of a pelvic bone peak out from the shredded waistband of dark coloured pants, still clinging in places to the lone pair of legs that look like they've spent time as Cerberus's chew toy. The areas the material doesn't cover have mostly been stripped down to the bone. "But I don't think that will."

"Fuck, that's disgusting." Claire groans, kicking the boot of one of the severed limbs with her own and making a face. "Think those belong to our boy downstairs?" She casts a glance over her shoulder and finds Alice regarding her with a raised eyebrow.

"Probably." Alice rasps, an echo of a smile tugging at her lips. "But I don't think he's going to need them anymore." Turning back, Claire lets out another disgruntled noise of disgust before shining the beam of her pocket flashlight around the room. It's sparse of any decoration, just the simple bare necessities, but as Claire walks the minimal length of it, eyes scanning for anything useful, she finds that the mirror above the sink is actually a medicine cabinet. Holstering her gun, and careful to avoid touching the jagged edges of the broken glass, she slides her fingers into the space where the mirrored door meets the wall of the cabinet and flips it open. She's met with the usual array of things a person might find in a bathroom cupboard. At least, before the apocalypse. As her eyes scan the various nondescript bottles and boxes cluttering the shelves, the thought occurs to her that she's gazing at a veritable museum. A window to a world almost forgotten. A place where things like painkillers and mouthwash were a cupboard away and taken for granted. There's a small rectangular grey box sat on the bottom shelf and Claire wraps her fingers around the top of it to lift it out. Resting it on the flat edge of the sink, she fiddles with the plastic clasp on the front until the lid pops open and then shines the light inside. The beam flickers over a wad of gauze, a thick roll of bandage, some Band-Aids, a small container of hydrogen peroxide and a few antiseptic wipes. There's a small pair of scissors and a slim pair of tweezers tucked between the bandage and the side of the box, and the remainder of a roll of adhesive tape.

"I don't know if any of this will help but-" She turns to walk back towards Alice, still looking down at the contents of the box.

"Claire." Alice's eyes hadn't left the redhead since she'd turned away and they remain still fixed on her even as Claire looks up. "I don't need that stuff." The redhead rolls her tongue over her lips in anticipation of speaking, but before she does she holds out the hand wrapped around the flashlight.

"Hold this?" Wordlessly, Alice takes the offered object, and then her entire body jerks as Claire's index finger slides beneath one of the straps of her belt and tugs her forward. At the same time the redhead moves backwards, closer to the sink, and once she's close enough to it she turns and places the first aid box back onto the edge of the sink. And Alice is too confused to know whether she's annoyed or not. Because while the other woman is blatantly ignoring her, Alice is fairly certain Claire is also attempting to take care of her. And Alice isn't used to that. Still, she isn't about to let the convoy leader waste supplies that would be useful to someone else.

"The virus..." Claire's movements still. "It heals me." And she can hear the uneven timber of Alice's voice. It waivers as she speaks, but only slightly, and Claire can tell the blonde is trying to control it. That speaking about the T-Virus and its effects, even limiting any kind of explanation to just those five words, is difficult for her. The reluctance she feels even saying 'virus' is clear, and as stubborn as she feels Alice has the potential to be, as stubborn as she feels herself wanting to be in reaction to it, Claire feels any kind of obstinacy drain from her.

"It might heal you, but it won't get rid of the nail fragment wedged into your side." Frowning, Alice lifts her shirt and shines the flashlight onto the lacerations marring her skin. After a few seconds, Alice spots it. Small and turned red by the blood, the splintered tip of a tiger claw is wedged into the cut closest to her hipbone. "And it's probably going to be uncomfortable if you just let the skin close over it." With frown lines still creasing her forehead, Alice lifts her gaze to find Claire clutching the tweezers between her thumb and index finger. "So I'm gonna use these to take it out. Okay?"

"I can do it myself." A fleeting image of Alice standing before her with the hackles on her neck raised like a fierce and terrified cat swims through Claire's mind and when it clears to reveal the woman before her, she sees apprehension clouding Alice's face. The notion that the blonde is like a wild beast hits her hard enough to cause her to drawn in a deep breath. Because that's **exactly** what Alice has become. After years of isolation and fighting for survival alone, she's turned into the human equivalent of a anxious and starved wild animal. The kind of person you need to approach with caution because any other strategy might scare them away. Or make them lash out.

"You don't need to do everything yourself, Alice." Claire whispers with a quiet but undoubtedly there insistency and takes a step towards Alice, closing the distance between them. "Let me help." Seconds ticked by in silence as Claire waited for some kind of permission from Alice. The blonde's gaze had turned intense with Claire's words and she stares at the convoy leader unfalteringly as time slips by.

Alice knows it shouldn't be this difficult. She vividly remembers a time when the idea of someone offering to help her wouldn't have made her balk and the rational part of her brain is calmly attempting to convince her of the absurdity of her reaction. But the irrational part, the one that makes her sweat and feel claustrophobic whenever there's another living entity within a ten foot radius, makes her want to run. But the way Claire is looking at her; all gentle determination and with an unrepentant need to help, makes Alice pause long enough to realise that the walls aren't closing in. And she feels something shift almost indiscernibly inside her. And though it isn't visible, something slight has changed.

Claire's heart is beating faster than it should; she knows because she can hear it. Finally Alice blinks, breaking the connection, and with a slight inclination of her head she nods to let Claire know it's okay. And so, taking another breath, the redhead drops to her knees so that her head is more or less level with Alice's stomach. The beam from the flashlight jerks erratically as Claire's lifts her left hand to press it against the uninjured portion of Alice's side and slides it with a careful slowness across her back, lifting both of the blonde's shirts in tandem with the motion.

Alice clenches her jaw and tightens her grip on the flashlight, hoping to mask the movement by positioning the beam so it shines directed on the area of her wounds. Claire doesn't make any kind of reaction that would imply she's registered anything out of the ordinary and Alice is thankful for that. Human contact hadn't ever been something she'd foreseen herself having to get used to again, but things rarely transpire the way you think they should. Claire's touch is the most direct she's felt in a while and Alice finds her body reacting to it without any sort of conscious prompting. Her body tingles as it registers the feel of foreign skin brushing against it, a thousand nerve endings springing to life and raising goose bumps along her flesh as they reach out for more. And Alice wrestles with the sudden urge to close her eyes against the way it mutates into a slow, pleasant burn in the wake of Claire's touch.

Green eyes pan the expanse of the newly revealed skin before them and Claire finds herself surprised by how smooth and, except for the most resent additions, unblemished Alice's form is. She'd suspected with all the fighting there would be more scars, though at the point when that thought had crossed her mind she'd been unaware of Alice's ability to heal. As she presses a hand more firmly against Alice's back and lifts the one holding the tweezers, she wonders if that's the cause of it. Careful not to rest the side of her fingers against the open wounds, Claire manoeuvres the tweezers with slow and precise movements, taking steadying breaths in an attempt to quell the slight shaking of her hand.

Alice only allows her eyes to close when the tips of the tweezers finally make contact with the raw skin of the tiger wounds. She screws them closed and bites back the groan of pain clawing its way up along her throat. It's almost like a hot poker being pressed against her side, except the metal is cold and she can feel the dainty sharpness of the tips of the tweezers as Claire realises she has no option but to force her way into the tender opening in order to gain a solid enough purchase on the claw fragment to pull it out. Claire shifts closer, her thumb moving against Alice's back for a fraction of a second before it stops. The blonde momentarily wonders if Claire had been attempting some kind of comforting touch, a knee-jerk reaction she hadn't been quick enough to stop, but a particularly deep dig of the tweezers finally makes Alice wince and the thought vanishes.

"Sorry." The kneeling woman murmurs, but Alice doesn't respond. "I got it." She can feel the foreign object being pulled out and lets the odd sense of relief wash over her. "Does it hurt?" Claire's low voice spreads warm breath across her abdomen and Alice's feels the muscles beneath the skin there react, twitching as though jarred by some electric impulse. She opens her mouth to speak, stalling for a second to catch a breath she hadn't known she'd been in danger of losing as Claire stands and turns away from her, dropping the inch-long claw tip onto a piece of square gauze and folding the edges around it.

"It's already healing." It's an evasive answer and Alice knows it, but they're the only kind she really remembers how to give.

"That doesn't answer my question." Because she can't recall the last time she met someone brave enough to call her on it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I don't own these characters or the world they inhabit, so please don't sue me. I have no money.

**A/N: Soo... it's been a while. Sorry about that. I got into a bit of a writing rut and couldn't pull myself out. But i think it's getting better - whether or not this update reflects that, i'm not sure ;) - and i know this update is a lot shorter than my usual, but i figured... something is better than nothing, right? I hope so anyway. ;) I also hope that there are still a few of you that will check this out, even if you had given up hope on me updating. As always, please feel free to let me know what you think! I can't tell you how much i enjoy getting reviews and story alerts; they kind of make my day. So don't be shy, i don't bite. :)**

* * *

Claire tears off a small piece of the adhesive tape and wraps it around the gauze to hold it close. Facing the blonde once more, she holds out the tiny bundle. "Souvenir." And quirks her lips into a half-smile. Hesitantly, like she isn't quite sure she remembers how, Alice returns it and reaches forward to take the proffered package. Their fingers brush together as the claw is exchanged and when Alice's pulls back a little more forcefully than could be considered necessary, Claire drops her hand back down to her side. "Does it?" And that look of determination returns.

Alice slides the gauze into her back pocket and then lifts her shirt to look down at the claw marks. Even without the illumination of the flashlight she'd know it was healing. She can feel the skin pulling together, growing over it, and the heat from the T-Virus scorches her veins as it swims through them.

"Yes." And she admits it with reluctance, because she has seen the kind of person Claire is; caring and compassionate, and Alice doesn't think she can handle her sympathy. Because having something you feel so passionately undeserving of can break a person. Alice watches as the other woman retrieves another square of gauze and the roll of bandage. When she raises a questioning eyebrow, Claire offers a simple shrug of her shoulders.

"So you don't get anything in it." And it's then Alice wonders if maybe Claire is doing this because she feels like she has to. That all those qualities that make her the great leader Alice believes she is, won't allow her to just sit by and do nothing while someone is injured. Despite the fact that they have the ability to heal. It's that thought that stops her from arguing as Claire presses the gauze to her skin, that maybe Claire needs to do it more than Alice needs her not to. The blonde's fingers move to hold the gauze in place so Claire can retrieve the roll of bandage, and the convoy leader mumbles a quiet thank you as she does. Slowly, and with a tinge more preciseness than Alice thinks necessary, Claire winds the bandage around her stomach to hold the gauze in place and then tears off two strips of the adhesive tape to keep it all secure. The slightly calloused tips of Claire's fingers graze the skin above the newly applied bandage as the redhead smoothes out the wrinkles in the dressing. She lifts her head, and her previously overlooked proximity to the other woman makes her suddenly start. Alice's expression is unreadable, but her iridescent eyes are as intense as always, and Claire inexplicably finds herself short of breath. Because they're so much more brilliant close up.

"Thank you." And Claire can tell by the way she says it that Alice isn't used to thanking people. Isn't used to people doing things for her. She wonders if she'd feel just as uncomfortable if their situations had been reversed and **she** had been the one needing tending to. She wonders when the last time Alice willingly allowed someone to help her had been.

"Don't mention it." But Claire just offers a smile and keeps her thoughts to herself. She turns to place everything neatly back into the grey plastic box, absently pulling at her lower lip and then opens her mouth to speak again. "But you know, it won't kill you to let someone help you now and again." And for a second, she'd really thought she might be able to hold onto that one. But, as so often is the case, Claire's beaten by her own intrigue and obstinacy. Alice doesn't let a heartbeat's length of time pass.

"No. But it might kill them." And she's gone before Claire can turn around.

The still decaying remains of the tiger's body draws Alice's attention as she re-enters the hallway and she spares it an almost sorrowful glance as she moves to push open the door of the next room. With an absent and practised ease, she frees a hand gun and lifts it in preparation before entering.

One room over, Claire only hears the squeaking of the hinges. Alice makes no sound. It's eerie, almost as though the other woman is some kind of apparition; little more than a fabrication birthed from a lonely mind. The thought unsettles Claire and, little grey box in hand, she follows after Alice. She finds the blonde already inspecting the contents of the space, the beam from Claire's flashlight still held in her grip touching on everything in sight, and the convoy leader lingers in the doorway for a moment to inspect Alice in turn. She moves with such assuredness, as though there's not a thing she doesn't expect or could catch her off guard. Claire speculates whether that's a deeply rooted confidence, or something that's little more than skin deep. Either way she admires it. It's a grace that's drenched in beauty, and that realisation makes her wonder how Alice managed to spend five years alone. Why. But the thought is a fleeting one and it's pushed aside as Claire crosses the threshold.

The room is small and boxlike in shape. There's enough room for a single metal bed frame, somehow missing its mattress, a dresser and a wooden desk that had been pushed into the far corner of the room. A worn looking chair sits before it, looking oddly alone beneath the thin layer of grime covering it, and a gentle touch from Alice's hand sends it spinning on its wheels a little, away from the desk. The blonde grips the thin bronze handle of the top drawer and tugs. It slides open with the dull scrape of wood on wood and Alice shines the light into the darkness. An aged leather bound bible sits askew inside, its cover cracked and rubbed away at the edges, obvious wear from frequent reading. Long fingers grip it by its spine and lift it from where it had been left. Forgotten. Lost.

"What is it?" Alice glances over her shoulder and watches Claire approach. She doesn't move away when the redhead sidles up close enough to look down at the book from over her shoulder, but Alice feels the muscles in her back tighten. She shines the light across the fading golden letters and Claire cocks an eyebrow thoughtfully as she regards the state of the book. "Someone must have had a lot of faith in it to read it into that kind of condition." Alice's thumb brushes against a fleck of scaly leather, knocking it free and watching as it floats towards the floor and disappears into the dirt and darkness.

"Or they had so little they were desperately looking to find some." Claire's breath disturbs the air close to Alice's cheek. It ripples, vibrating through her. "Maybe they were just looking for answers." She lets the book fall from her grip and back into the drawer with an unexpected thud that makes Claire's eyelids flicker. "Lot of good it did them." With the same grating sound of wood scraping wood, the drawer slides back into place.

"Maybe our friend downstairs isn't the owner of this place. Maybe the person that book belongs to is safe somewhere else. Maybe they found something in there worth fighting for, worth living for. Worth just... going on for?" And Claire doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but it does and Alice can't read her well enough to know what exactly it is she's asking. And it infuriates her. So used to being able to judge what's going to happen around her before it happens, what someone will do; with Claire, that skill vacillates. Burning out faster than a match struck in a windstorm.

"Nowhere is safe." Alice says, abruptly shifting out of their shared space and striding across the room. Claire turns, resting a hand on a cocked hip.

"Carlos talked about you as though you were this eternal optimist. Like this whole 'end of the world' bullshit can't touch you." Alice's stride wavers as memories that feel as though they happened a lifetime ago flash behind her eyes. Younger, less weathered versions of herself and Carlos; more smiles, more hope. "Well, for an eternal optimist, you're kind of pessimistic." But five years can change a person.

"Optimism is hard to hold onto when the world is dying around you." And even the strongest surface can weather during a storm.

"But you managed." Claire counters, eyes glimmering with inquisition now as she gazes at Alice's rigid back. The pessimism flows from Alice like a sudden, thickening fog and the weight of it makes Claire's shoulders slump. "You've barely spoken two words to anyone since you got here." She points out, gesturing towards the blonde with the hand holding the grey box. "But on the rare occasion you did it was always some well worded message of hope. And you were pretty damn convincing." Green eyes narrow and Claire's brow furrows. "What changed? Why the sudden shift in opinions? Was it all just a facade you can't keep up anymore?" Alice's fingers twitch against her gun as she stares holes into something ahead that her eyes aren't focused on. "Why now?" And now Claire sounds almost exasperated, as though she had just found a piece to a jigsaw puzzle she'd been agonising over, only to turn it over and find that it was blank. In the hush, Alice hears the scrap of Claire's boots as she shifts closer. "Why me?" But she remains still and silent, and she holds the stance long enough that Claire is certain Alice has gone back to hiding behind her soundproof walls. But then, Alice does seem to be forever surprising her.

"Because I thought you'd understand." And when Alice turns, iridescent eyes staring right into the convoy leader, Claire's shock turns into something else. Utterly indescribable, it melts her surprise and she feels it trickle through her entire body, cooling rapidly until it lands solidly at her feet and roots them to the spot. It's as though every emotion imaginable is swirling in the other woman's gaze, each assigned their own specific colour, melding until they create one there isn't a name for.

"It's kinda hard to understand something that hasn't been explained yet." The words spill slowly, with gentle trepidation, from Claire's lips. There's an invisible line lying somewhere before her and without some kind of marker, there's no way for her to know when it has been crossed. But Alice knows. She feels the line snap under the weight of Claire's hesitant toeing and all at once there's a war raging inside her. Because once again she finds herself practically thrown an opportunity to open up, to say something that will let Claire in - let her understand, just a little - and for an instant, that simple revelation leaves her light headed. As though the Atlas-like weight she carries on her shoulders has lifted. But then the realisation that she **wants** to let Claire in slaps her hard enough across the face, all those walls slam back into place. Like some primitive survival mechanism she hasn't figured out how to disengage yet.

"We should check the rest of the upstairs." The apathetic tone of Alice's voice makes Claire's temper flare. It licks her insides until they burn and she feels the fire racing up her throat.

"God damn it, Alice!" Claire slams the little first aid kit down onto the desk so hard, Alice's is surprised the wood doesn't just splinter and shatter. "You're fucking **infuriating**!" The blonde's brow creases slightly, but other than that her expression stays the same. Claire's green eyes blaze as she runs her fingers through the front of her hair in agitation, balling it into a fist at the crown, and the motion - or the time it takes for her to make it - seems to mollify her a little. She takes a few deep breaths, looking suddenly awkward as her gaze skitters around the room. Alice notes the light blush colouring her cheeks.

"You're only just noticing that, huh?" The blonde's smirk is slight, but inarguably present. And Claire is too mystified to know whether to be enraged or amused.

* * *

**So, anyone still out there reading? ;)**


End file.
